


Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf

by stephrc79



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: (says the girl who's posting a story where she does), Alternate Universe, Because Steve and Bucky are horrible people, M/M, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, coffee hatred, mention of Sarah Rogers death, mentions of hatred, tea hatred, we need more stories where she doesn't
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-29
Updated: 2017-06-29
Packaged: 2018-11-21 02:56:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11348415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stephrc79/pseuds/stephrc79
Summary: It started out simple enough: A fantastic one-night-stand between the outright tea heathen, Bucky Barnes, and the absolute coffee snob, Steve Rogers.And it would havestayedsimple, if neither of these two idiots had found out about their mutual hatred of the other’s choice in caffeinated beverages. But when are things with Steve and Bucky ever that simple?Welcome to the surprisingly not-crack!fic you never knew you always wanted.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [boopboop](https://archiveofourown.org/users/boopboop/gifts), [Hopeless--Geek (wuzzy90)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wuzzy90/gifts).
  * Translation into 中文 available: [咖啡豆與茶葉](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16180499) by [sashach](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sashach/pseuds/sashach)



> For your viewing pleasure, a Captain America Reverse Big Bang, and a special birthday present for my 'dearest comrade', [Boop The Unicorn](http://archiveofourown.org/users/boopboop/pseuds/boopboop).
> 
> A special special special shout out to the amazing [hopeless--geek](http://www.hopeless--geek.tumblr.com) for her _spectacular_ art. I think she might be my spirit animal, because I had this story in my head, and when I saw her art for the RBB, I couldn't have picked anything more perfect than what she created. Thank you SO much, Hope! ILU lots and lots and lots.  
>  ~~~~  
> 

There was something different about New York City sunlight. It didn’t present itself in brilliant Southern California rays, or roll in like a soft, warm blanket over some beach on Maui.

No, New York sunlight was only ever one of two things: bright and harsh, and absolutely bleeding heat, bouncing off of glass skyscrapers with a _here I am, world! Take me on!_ sort of attitude; or dull and whitewashed, and barely a flash in the pan, like a carrot being dangled in front of wayward New Yorkers, all of whom could be found crying into their heavy coats somewhere in the middle of March.

Born and raised in Los Angeles, but here in New York for the last five years, working as a marketing exec for a fortune 500 company, the divorce between East Coast Sun and West Coast Sun was never lost on Steve Rogers. But he loved both equally, and fully. He could admit to that.

Today was a bleeding heat day, but Steve's apartment, right in the heart of the Financial District, blessedly had central A/C. Which meant he could snuggle in just a little bit closer to last night’s conquest – some hot restaurant owner he’d picked up at The Dead Rabbit who called himself ‘Bucky’. Steve was pretty sure that was either a nickname or a flat-out lie, because seriously, what the hell kind of name was _Bucky?_

The illicit New York sun was painting Bucky’s naked back in soft light, and it was all Steve could do not to run his tongue over the swell of a truly exceptional ass. He smiled, because really, he’d done well for himself with this one. Thick arms, rock-hard abs, strong shoulders, thighs that could kill a man (and almost did last night), a beautiful v-line, and just about the most perfect dick Steve had ever seen. Bucky also had a prosthetic arm – one he hadn’t talked much about the night before, other than the mechanics of it, which Steve had to admit was one of the most fascinating conversations he’d had in a long time.

An eye squinted open, a tiny smile played across still-kiss-bruised lips, and the voice that followed still sent a dirty shiver right down Steve’s spine. “Hey, stranger.”

Steve snorted. “Hey, yourself. Forget my name already?”

_“Actually...”_

Steve laughed, not bothering to give him an answer, and instead leaned in to capture lips that were practically _begging_ to be sucked on. Bucky tasted like he could use a toothbrush – they both could – but it didn’t stop Steve from taking his fill, nor did it stop Bucky from giving as good as he got. Bucky groaned, and Steve took that as his cue to roll them over and press down, delighting in the feel of Bucky’s morning wood against his own.

 _“Fuck.”_ Bucky met Steve halfway as they rutted against each other, lazy and sloppy. Neither of them really awake for this, but if the way Bucky raked his nails across Steve’s shoulder was anything to go by ( _right_ over sensitive marks from last night, and wasn’t _that_ just...), then he was just as desperate to get off as Steve was.

Steve grabbed Bucky’s hand – he’d removed his prosthetic the night before – and licked a stripe up the center. Steve leveraged himself to pin Bucky to the bed, then licked his own hand and locked fingers with Bucky so they could fuck lazily into the circle of both their hands, and _Jesus fuck_ this felt good. He couldn’t even put a finger on why, but last night’s fuck-a-thon had been some of the best sex of Steve’s life. And this handjob was already shaping up to be a perfect cap to a perfect night.

His orgasm hit faster than he was expecting, but more of a honey slide than a punch to the gut, just the way he liked first thing in the morning, He used the come pooling in his hand as lube and took over, jacked Bucky off firm and deep, then captured his lips as Bucky arched off the bed, adding his own come to the mess between them.

Steve licked into his mouth one more time before smiling down at him. “It’s Steve, by the way.”

“Steve,” Bucky repeated, his eyes glassed over, his smile slow and undone. “Knew it was something generic, just couldn’t remember which.”

“Oh, fuck you, like _Bucky_ is so much better,” Steve huffed, still smiling, and smacked Bucky on the arm. He sat up and straddled Bucky’s thighs so he could grab the box of kleenex off the nightstand. They cleaned themselves up and Steve dropped the tissues back on the nightstand; he’d deal with throwing them all out later. “What kind of name even is that? You do realize it’s not 1945, right?”

“Fuck you too, _Jeff.”_ Bucky tried to pinch him, but Steve managed to bat his hand away. “It’s cuz my middle name’s Buchanan, you jackass –”

“I _knew_ it wasn’t your real name!”

“– and I’ll have you know my kid sister gave me that nickname.”

“Okay, first off,” Steve started, and batted Bucky away again, “never mention your little sister again while in this bed. _Second,_ so what the fuck _is_ your real name?”

Bucky tried one more time to get at Steve, but Steve quickly pinned his hand above his head. He then ground down, ignoring his own sensitivity so he could savor the small moan he got for his troubles. When Bucky flicked a tongue over his own bottom lip, Steve couldn’t help but track the movement.

“If you really wanna know, it’s James.”

“Ha!” Steve dove in for a quick kiss. “And you called _my_ name boring! Can I call you Jimmy?”

“If you want me to murder you in your own shower, sure.”

“Is that your way of inviting yourself into said shower with me?”

Bucky arched an eyebrow. “You know, I think you may have missed the point of – okay, yes definitely, that’s what I’m doing,” he cut off as Steve pressed against him again. They clumsily fell out of bed and into the bathroom, and lazy morning handjobs were great and all, but they were nothing compared to getting fucked twice against the tile wall.

~~~~

Bucky was ruffling a towel through his hair as he crossed from the bathroom to the bedroom, and Steve lowered his tablet to appreciate the view. He was wearing a pair of Steve’s sleep pants, hung low enough to show a peek of that chiseled v-line, and Steve shivered at the memory of running his tongue along that particular cut. The night before had been spectacular, and they’d already gone several rounds this morning, but that didn’t seem to have slaked Steve’s thirst, not at all.

Bucky disappeared through the door, and Steve had to give pause. He wasn’t the type of guy who ever needed more than one good night with a partner. And usually by now, whoever he’d brought home was long gone, both understanding the score. Hell, half the time, his bed partner left before first light. Steve was never rude enough to kick someone out, but he also loved his solitude and privacy, and he’d always figured they could see that. But not only had Bucky stayed the entire night, he didn’t seem to be going anywhere for the immediate future, and Steve was...okay with that. He wasn’t quite ready to let this one escape, was just fine with going back for Round Who-The-Hell-Knew.

He smiled and adjusted his glasses, then turned back to his tablet. The coffee was almost done steeping, and he pulled up the Seamless app, looking for something for breakfast. He was torn between Stamina – amazing food, but they took ten years to deliver, or Square Diner – not quite as good, but they rarely took longer than twenty minutes.

The timer on his tablet went off, signaling the coffee was ready, and Steve got up to pour them both a cup. He took a second to breathe in the amazing scent – a Nicaraguan blend he’d recently picked up from Brooklyn Roasting Company that tasted like toasted oatmeal and pralines. It was heady and rich, smelled absolutely delicious, and he was kind of already in love with it.

He didn’t tout himself as a coffee connoisseur, but to be frank, he _had_ tasted some of the best coffees in the world. He’d traveled all over, trying coffees everywhere he could – café Cubanos from Havana, unfiltered Turkish pours while in Istanbul, even a special concoction from a tiny shop in Adelaide, Australia that was designed to keep you up for eighteen hours (fifteen hours and twenty-six minutes, not that he’d timed himself). He’d gone out of his way for that one – flown there especially after a business trip to Melbourne.

The thing was, he liked coffee. All coffee. All blends, all types, all pours, all temps. It was his _thing._

“Whatcha got there?”

Steve smiled to himself as he continued to pour the second mug, watching the crema develop as the cup slowly filled. He prayed Bucky took it black – the _only_ way regular coffee should be drunk.

“Just a little bit of liquid goodness of the gods.” He turned and held up the cup, smiling at Bucky. “It’s a new blend I picked up last week and it’s _amazing.”_ Bucky took the cup with his metal hand – the prosthetic back in place now – but didn’t take a sip; he just stared at it with a little frown. _Shit._ He probably _was_ a cream and sugar guy. “I’m not sure how you take it, but I suggest drinking it straight first. See if you like the taste as is. If not, I’m, uh, happy to get you some stuff for it.”

He really wasn’t, and he was proud of himself for not shuddering at the thought.

“No, actually, thank you, but...” For reasons that defied God and Man, Bucky actually _handed back_ the cup. He huffed out a tiny laugh, and scratched the back of his head, before grabbing onto his arm, right where it met the prosthetic. He gave Steve a half smile that was, if anything, sheepish. “I hope this isn’t rude of me for asking, since you know, you went to the trouble and all” – he waved at the cup in Steve’s hand before grabbing his arm again – “but would you actually have any tea?”

Steve just blinked. No way he’d heard that right.

Bucky apparently took his silence as confusion, because he went on: “Any kind that’s caffeinated is fine. Black or oolong, though I wouldn’t turn down green, if that’s all you have –”

“I don’t,” Steve finally managed to sputter out.

“Have green?”

Was this guy for real? “Have _tea.”_

“Like, none at all?” Bucky frowned down at the cup of coffee again, his nose wrinkling.

“Uh, no?”

“Why...?”

Seriously, _was_ this guy for real? “Because I’m civilized?”

Steve had never seen anyone’s eyebrows shoot up so fast in his entire life. Bucky stared at him, like he’d spoken in tongues, and for one hysterical second, Steve wondered if he had. At least that would explain why _anyone_ would turn down some of the best coffee in all of New York City for some leaf-flavored water.

“Did you just...?” Bucky crossed his arms, and Steve wasn’t gonna lie, the metal over flesh was kind of intimidating (even if the defiant stance was _also_ kind of hot – Steve was only human, after all). He took a step toward Steve, and Steve would never freely admit to leaning back a little. “Did you _actually_ just insult tea?”

“Tea doesn’t have feelings, Buck,” Steve responded, kind of stupidly, latching onto the least crazy thing about that question.

“Nu-uh.” Bucky waved a finger at him. “You don’t get to call me Buck, you uncultured heathen.”

 _“Uncultured.”_ Steve gaped, because if _anyone_ was uncultured, it was this clown standing in front of him. He set his own cup back on the counter and stood up, waving his tablet at the Neanderthal he let sleep in his bed last night. _“I’m_ not the uncultured one here, _Bucky._ I mean, who even drinks tea anymore?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe the entire _fucking world?”_

“Yeah. And that entire fucking world _also_ drinks coffee! I know! I’ve tried them all!”

“Wow...” Bucky stared at him. “You're _that_ guy, aren’t you?”

“What guy?”

“The Brooklyn hipster coffee snob.”

Well, that was just hitting below the belt.

“Excuse you, I don’t even _live_ in Brooklyn!”

Bucky snorted. “Yeah. Because that was the most important part of what I just said.”

“Anyway.” Steve waved a hand at him as he worked to rein in the flair of petulant anger. He wasn’t about to let the whole morning go sideways over _coffee._ Or tea. Or whatever. Steve wasn’t looking for a life partner, so he honestly didn’t care all that much, which meant Bucky could go on living his life in a state of wrongness. Right now, Steve was still more interested in continuing to get righteously laid. He picked up his tablet and waved it at Bucky. “I was actually about to order breakfast, so why don’t I order some... _tea_ for you?”

“Uuuuhh.” Bucky eyed him warily, which, okay, Steve could admit to himself those were some pretty hard brakes he just put on that whole conversation. “Okay? I mean, if you still wanted me to stay...”

Despite Bucky being some freaky tea-lover, it was most definitely something Steve still wanted. So, he set the tablet down and, with a small avaricious smile, hooked a finger into the front of Bucky’s pants and pulled him into the vee of his legs. “Not looking to kick you out over a disagreement about a drink, Bucky. I’d _lick_ the damn stuff off you if it meant getting to run my tongue over your abs again.”

“Wow, that’s _really_ gay, Steve.”

“Says the guy who’s had my dick in his mouth.”

“Yeah, I’m beginning to question all my life choices on that – mmph.” Bucky broke off as Steve crushed their mouths together. Bucky’s arms wound around Steve’s waist as they began to trade lazy kisses, their earlier argument all but forgotten. Looked like coffee, tea, _and_ breakfast would just have to wait for a while.


	2. Chapter 2

Bucky had no idea what he was doing.

First off, Bucky didn’t _do_ one night stands. In fact, as much as he hated to admit this to himself, Steve was actually his first one. He’d always said it was because most people he met when he went out bored him, but really, he was too busy with the restaurant to even _have_ time to be bored. But last night had just been the stars fucking aligning or something. He’d had his first night off in a month, and when he met Steve, he’d been _so_ hot and _so_ charming and so _ridiculously_ smart, and okay yeah, it _had_ been a while, so Bucky thought why not.

And also, well, honestly too many of those boring strangers also liked to ask intrusive questions about his arm, and it was always such a turn-off. Made him feel self-conscious when he normally never was. And sure, Steve had asked a couple questions, but things like, who had designed the arm (a team from Stanford), how long had his dexterity taken him (one excruciatingly long year), and, once they’d made it to Steve’s bed, did he feel more comfortable with or without it on (without, and Steve hadn’t batted an eyelash).

So, of course – _of course_ – Steve had to turn out to be some sort of commie Java Junkie. It was just Bucky’s luck.

As he sat on the floor in front of Steve’s couch, sipping a pretty decent Earl Grey, and watching hot sauce drip down Steve's chin after taking a too-big bite from his breakfast sandwich, Bucky figured he could maybe let the flaw slide. Because Steve wasn’t just hot: he was also a huge dork, who liked some egg and sausage with his sriracha, and yet couldn’t seem to take one bite of the damn thing without making a total mess of himself. Steve eyed him sheepishly, but made no move to clean up his face.

Bucky snorted and picked up his own breakfast burrito, eyes never leaving Steve’s face, and took his own big bite, managing not to get any of it anywhere – all while doing it with his prosthetic.

“You think you’re so slick, don’t you,” Steve commented, his eyes sparkling. Bucky just switched his tea to his prosthetic hand and reached over to wipe at the corner of Steve’s mouth.

He made a show of sucking at his thumb, and smiled. “You know, for someone with two good arms, you should have better aim; you’re aware of this.”

“Okay, but couldn’t I argue that my mouth is more the problem than my hands?”

“I would agree if I didn’t already know what that mouth was capable of.”

He was rewarded by a slight coloring in Steve’s cheeks, even if that coloring was met with one of the dirtiest smirks Bucky had ever seen on someone – and considering his last ex, that was saying something.

“Don’t look at me like that unless you plan on backing that up, cowboy.”

Steve burst out laughing, slipping sideways, his head disappearing under the coffee table. _“Cowboy?”_ came the muffled reply. He pushed himself up and wiped tears from his eyes. “Who even _says_ that anymore.”

Bucky shook his head, refusing to admit that he was still a little bit charmed at the weird things Steve found funny. Instead he punched Steve lightly on the arm. Because he was an adult. “You make fun of my phrases, call me uncivilized over my choice of beverage –”

“That’s because you are,” Steve cut in, pointing his coffee cup at Bucky. Bucky punched him again, and he squawked as his coffee satisfyingly (to Bucky, at least) sloshed over his hand. He set the cup down and gave his hand a shake. “Watch it, you jackass.”

“Is it hot?”

“Well, no, not anymore –”

“Then you’ll live,” Bucky commented with a tiny smirk, then began to tick off on his fingers. “First off, tea is one of _the_ most civilized drinks in the world. Second, it’s more widely drunk than your _beans_ over there. Third, you know what else is a bean, Steve? Pintos. And black-eye. And...and _garbanzos._ You don’t see people trying to drink _those,_ do you?”

“You mean like in soup?”

Like in...

“No, Steve. Not like in soup.” His jaw clicked painfully. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

“Okay, fine, but it’s not like people are drinking _bay_ leaves, or something.”

“Actually...”

“I don’t even want to know.” Steve waved a dismissive hand at him, and there was that jaw clicking again. This conversation was sliding sideways again, and Bucky couldn’t figure out why things kept getting off course. Jesus, it was only tea and coffee! “As it is, you’re missing the finer points of _coffee._ It’s rich and flavorful, and comes in so many different tasting notes, anything from fruit to warm cookies, root beer to various spices.”

“And you think tea _doesn’t?”_ There was no way Steve was _this dense_ about one of the most popular beverages in the world. No way. Someone had to set the man straight.

He slammed his tea onto the table and stood up quickly. Steve’s head snapped up, surprise in his eyes, and okay that was a bit dramatic, but Bucky was already doing the standing thing, so he went with it, and pointed a finger at him. “Okay, you. _You._ You’re coming with me.”

“Uh, coming where?” Steve’s eyes ticked over to the bedroom. “I mean, I’d rather we finish eating first, and you know, keep the food out here, if that’s okay...”

Bucky had no idea what the noise was that came out of his mouth right then. _“No,_ Steve. You’re being way too obtuse for your own –”

 _“Obtuse?_ And you call _me_ the snob.”

“Don’t act like you don’t know what it means. And my point stands: you’re being too _obtuse_ for your own good right now, and in good conscience, I can’t continue to sleep with someone so wrong headed. So.” He nodded once, sharp. “We’re going to go fix that.”

Steve stared back at him. “Uh, fix what?”

“Your tea ignorance.”

“You think I don’t know anything about tea? I’m a _world traveler,_ Bucky. I at least _know_ about it.”

“That’s like saying you know about cars because of all the sedans you’ve rented when I’m here trying to talk about how beautiful Aston Martins are.”

“That actually is a really beautiful line of cars.”

“Aren’t they, though?” So, Steve wasn’t _totally_ a lost cause. He held out his hand. “But seriously, though. You know nothing and I’m going to teach you.”

Steve eyed the proffered hand, his eyes full of trepidation. “How are you going to teach me?”

“I’m taking you to a tea shop in Brooklyn.”

“That requires getting dressed, leaving my apartment – and my bed, I might add – and” – Steve shuddered – “drinking _tea._ Three things I had no intention of doing today.”

Bucky just shrugged. “Plans change,” he said, and wiggled his fingers.

Steve sighed and finally took Bucky’s hand, allowing himself to be hauled up. _“Or_ I could just kick you out and stick to _my_ plan.”

Bucky wrapped metal fingers around Steve’s nape and pulled him in for a truly filthy kiss, all heat and tongue, and it only took a few seconds before Steve branded himself to Bucky, wrapping his arms tight around Bucky’s waist. Bucky kept the kiss going until he started to feel Steve getting hard against his thigh, then pulled back with one final lick along Steve’s bottom lip. Steve tried to follow the movement, but Bucky just leaned back far enough out of reach, and smiled. “Come with me, and I promise that later, I’ll suck your brains out through your dick.”

“Want to borrow some clothes before we head out?”


	3. Chapter 3

“Is there a reason you brought me to Ikea on crack, Buck?”

Bucky ignored him in favor of giving a small wave to the guy standing behind the counter – of _course_ he knew the staff – and pulled Steve further into the shop. Seriously though, Steve would defy anyone to prove him wrong. The colors were bright and monochrome, amid three full walls of individual giant squares that turned out to be cubbies of tea, and he was pretty sure the names listed on all of them was in the exact same font that Ikea used. That didn’t even include the tables of samples and tea pots and other tea-making items he didn’t recognize. It was kind of insane, actually.

“I mean, isn’t tea supposed to be old? And stuffy?” he went on, as Bucky stopped in front of a large round sample table full of little bowls of various loose-leaf teas, all different varieties and textures. There were small black signs every couple of feet going around the table, with what looked like information about each selection of tea. Steve only recognized the words black and oolong and tea. He had no idea what a _rooibos_ was, let alone how to pronounce it. “This place literally looks exactly like what happens when you let the designers from MoMA loose on some poor, unsuspecting building.”

“You saying you don’t like the MoMA, Steve?” Bucky asked, arms crossed. “Those are pretty blasphemous words for a New Yorker, you know.”

“Except I’m not a New Yorker.” Steve shrugged, then looked around again. And tried to stifle a shudder at the garishly violent colors. “Not natively, anyways.”

Bucky cocked his head. “Really? Huh, I thought you were. Where are you from, then?”

“Grew up in L.A.”

“Ha!” Bucky barked out, though Steve had no idea why that was funny. “Isn’t this sort of aesthetic common place out there? I’d think you’d be used to this.”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t go that far.” Though, if he was being honest, there _was_ a certain...brightness about Los Angeles. Maybe that was why stores like Pier One Imports – a store his mother used to _love_ – were so popular out there.

He waved a hand at the little bowls in front of them. “So, you gonna explain all this?”

“Oh! Yes.” Bucky’s eyes immediately lit up, and he looked so boyishly handsome it stole a little bit of Steve’s breath. Maybe going on this excursion wasn’t _so_ bad. Bucky slowly began to walk around the table. “So, for your first lesson, I was half-kidding earlier about the whole ‘bay leaf tea’ thing –”

“And thank God for that.”

“Hush, I’m talking here.” Bucky smacked his chest, but his eyes were still doing that crinkling thing they did when he smiled (the very thing that had made Steve want to buy Bucky a drink the night before, actually), so Steve figured he was good for now.   _“Anyway,_ as I was saying, the reason being is because, for something to really be tea, it has to come from the _Camellia sinensis_ plant.”

Steve frowned as he picked up two bowls from in front of that rooibos sign – one labeled _Just Rose,_ which looked like it was full of teeny tiny rosebuds, and another one called _Vanilla Spice,_ which looked _exactly_ like this potpourri his mom used to keep in the living room – and held them up. “Not exactly sure how these come from the same plant, Buck. Also, what the hell is a...roo-ee-boss?”

“That’s because they don’t,” Bucky said, with what sounded suspiciously like a _very_ put-upon sigh, and took the bowls from Steve to put them back on the table. “And _rheebus_ is a type African plant used to make herbal tea. But as I was _about_ to say, if it’s not made from the _Camellia sinensis_ plant, then it’s what’s called a tisane. Which is basically just a fancy word for herbal tea. And that can be made from just about anything that can be steeped.”

Steve couldn’t help but smile. “So, does that mean that coffee is a tisane? You _did_ just say anything that could be steeped.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Steve, why are you joyless?”

“I’m not joyless. See this smile?” He pointed at his face. “Pure joy at giving you a hard time.”

“Then let me amend my question: Why are you an ass?”

“I have been told it makes me devilishly handsome.”

“You have been told lies.”

Steve burst out laughing and followed Bucky as he made his way further around the table. He was currently decked out, head to toe, in Steve’s clothes, and the view was...nice. He wasn’t wearing anything special – basically the same combination of tee, shorts, and Converse that Steve had on. But it still gave him a tiny thrill, like when Peggy used to snuggle up in his sweaters during the winter.

He found himself reaching out to touch the small of Bucky’s back, only to pull back at the last second, no clue what he was doing. They weren’t about casual touches; this was just sex. And a tea and coffee war apparently.

He just managed to school his features as Bucky turned back around. “I assume you at least know what _these_ are?” he asked, and pointed at the black teas.

And he said _Steve_ was the ass.

“Let me guess,” Steve answered, deadpan. “They’re from that weird Carmen Sandiego plant you were talking about.”

 _“Carmella sinensis,”_ Bucky replied (Steve was kind of surprised Bucky didn’t deck him). “But yes. Well, these as well as white, green and oolong.”

“Well, if they’re all from the same plant, then why are there so many variations – okay pretend I wasn’t just about to ask that.” Steve knew his face was probably bright red. For someone who’d claimed not two hours before to know everything about coffee, he couldn’t believe that sentence almost came out of his mouth. All coffee came from the same plant, too.

“Yeeeaaaah.” Bucky shook his head, slow, and gave Steve a pat on the shoulder. “It’s okay, Stevie. We can’t all be geniuses. Or, you know, be smart at all.”

Steve swallowed, his insides immediately at war over the snarky response and the tiny nickname. He knew Bucky had no idea, but no one had called him Stevie since his mom, not even Peggy. He cleared his throat and turned away to face the teas. “You’re fucking hilarious, you know that.”

“Just wanted to make sure you knew I could give it as good as I could take it,” Bucky countered with a chuckle.

Steve side-eyed him and offered up a half smile. “You already proved that last night.”

Seeing Bucky's resultant blush helped to ease whatever the hell was going on inside Steve’s head. He needed to get a fucking grip.

“Anyway.” Bucky smiled, but turned back to the teas. “The reason I brought you _here,_ though, is because I actually want you to try something. Umm...this one.” He picked up one of the bowls in front of a sign that read _Really Russian Caravan,_ and held it out.

“Russian tea?” he asked, taking the bowl _._ He took a whiff, only to frown, confused. “I can’t smell anything.”

Bucky plucked the bowl out of his hand and set it back down. “That’s because these bowls are all old and stale and smell like literally nothing.” He nodded over at the checkerboard walls. “If you want to really smell it, you have to grab it from over there.”

“Then why are we even standing here?”

“I’m schooling you, Steve.” He reached out and patted Steve’s cheek, a wolfish grin splitting his face. “You gotta walk before you can run.”

“You know, just for that, you’re coming with me to my favorite coffee shop after this,” Steve countered, and _yes._ That was a brilliant idea, especially the way it was making that smile fall right off Bucky’s smug face. Steve stared at him, challengingly. “Hey, it’s only fair. You wanted to drag me here to try and convince me that tea is some sort of superior drink to coffee, so it only makes sense I get to try and do the same thing.”

“Except for how coffee _isn’t_ superior to tea.” Bucky said, exasperated, as he looked around all over the shop. “I don’t see how going to some hipster coffee house is going to prove that.”

Steve crossed his arms and smiled, tickled at how flustered Bucky had suddenly become over the mere _mention_ of going to a coffee shop. “I could have said the same thing, you know. I think it’s pretty clear at this point we’ve both got a hard line on our viewpoints about what constitutes the better beverage, and yet” – he waved a hand around – “here I am.”

At some point, Bucky had copied his stance, and Steve watched as he narrowed his eyes, probably considering Steve’s point. Which was a good one, by the way.

“Fine,” Bucky said, finally. Then he nodded over Steve’s shoulder. “But you’re not just smelling this tea, you're also trying it. I’ll drink yours if you drink mine.”

“Totally fair,” Steve answered. “Though, it actually never occurred to me that I _wouldn’t_ be trying something. Would have seemed pointless to even come, otherwise.”

“Not really. I could have lorded your inability to even _try_ something new over you. I was all prepped to add it to my arsenal.”

Steve wasn’t totally sure if Bucky realized what he’d just said – that he had every intention of spending time in the future with Steve, enough to tease him about something on the regular – and Steve made sure to school his features, because well, even _he_ didn’t know how he felt about that.

 _Booty call, Rogers,_ he reminded himself. This guy was a dick about his weird tea fetish, and Steve didn’t need that kind of negativity in his life. Even if it was kind of cute – okay, stop it because it _wasn’t._

He smiled tightly and waved in the direction of where Bucky had been pointing. “Lead the way.”

 _Really Russian Caravan_ turned out to be a black tea that smelled like a particularly rich Scotch, smooth with just a perfect hint of smokiness. And while the guy at the counter – Clint, as it turned out, who'd once bonded with Bucky over a really horrible oolong, which apparently meant they were BFFs – had insisted Steve drink it black, _Bucky_ had suggested he add a touch of milk.

“You’re a damn heathen, Barnes,” Clint grumbled, even as he poured some milk into a little creamer. Steve had to cover his mouth to hide a snort as he thought back to earlier when his exact same thought, misguided as it was, about Bucky and milk had been where this whole thing had started.

“Yeah, but this guy hates tea,” Bucky explained and Clint’s head shot up, “and I really think he’ll love _this_ one if there’s milk in it.”

 _“You hate...”_ Clint started and Steve rolled his eyes.

“Gee, thanks _Buck._ Throw me under the bus, why don’t you.”

“Oh, anytime, Stevie. It was my pleasure.”

“Okay, but.” Clint set the milk down in favor of clutching the teapot to his chest. “How can you _hate tea?_ It’s like the best – it’s one of the most – I mean, _how.”_

Clint's expression was so pathetic – like someone had kicked him _and_ his dog – that Steve turned to Bucky and hissed, “I’m going to murder you, you dick,” before turning back to Clint. “Look, man, it’s not that I _hate_ tea –”

“Except for how you do.”

Yep. Murder.

“– it’s just that coffee is really more my speed. But Buck here had asked me to try something new, and because I’m an _open person”_ – he snapped his eyes over to Bucky, whose own were dancing – “I’m giving this tea thing a try.”

Clint looked like he didn’t believe one bit of what came out of Steve’s mouth, and eventually flicked a glance over at Bucky. The two of them had some sort of unspoken conversation, but it was only when Bucky eventually gave a short nod that Clint slowly, reluctantly, poured a small cup and set that, along with the creamer, down in front of him.

“I don’t take cream in my coffee, Buck,” he said, but picked up the creamer anyway. “What makes you think I’m going to want it here?”

“Just try it,” Bucky softly answered, and gave Steve a tiny half smile. “Do it for me.”

Steve laughed, just as softly. “Pretty sure I’m already doing this for you.”

Bucky’s smile grew that much wider as Steve finally fixed his tea and took a sip. And he was instantly transported back to one of the first trips he'd taken after his mom died, to Venice and a little café at the Palazzo Gracci. The waiter had suggested a latte, and even then, Steve hadn’t been a big fan of milk in his coffee, but he’d agreed because he really wasn’t up to making everyday decisions yet, and it had turned out to be one of the best cups of coffee he’d ever had in his life. He’d heard stories that baristas in Italy trained for years – had apprenticeships and everything – and it had been so evident in that small cup of espresso and milk, that he’d ended up ordering three, and came back every day he’d spent in Venice.

And here he was, in some strange shop in the middle of Brooklyn, drinking a _Russian tea,_ of all things, and it was like sitting at one of those little tables in the middle of the plaza all over again.

“It’s good,” he finally rasped, to the two expectant faces staring back at him, ignoring the hoarseness of his own voice. He tried to brush it off with a nonchalant shrug as he set the cup back down. “I mean, I wouldn’t kick it out of my apartment, if it was there. Can’t promise I’d actively _drink_ it, but, you know.”

“Anyone ever tell you you’re really stubborn?” Bucky sighed. “You could just admit I’m right.”

Steve huffed a laugh, the last of the melancholy memory fading away. “That would be admitting that I think tea is better. I’m just saying I like this one. I’m not ready to declare allegiance to all things tea.”

“Yet,” Bucky said, with a smirk.

“Never,” Steve countered, and couldn’t help himself as he leaned in to kiss the look off Bucky’s face.


	4. Chapter 4

As the F train rumbled all around him, Bucky touched a finger to his lips, still slightly buzzing from the kiss. Clint had cocked an eyebrow at the gesture, but Bucky had been so flabbergasted, he hadn’t even thought to say something to him. Besides, Steve was just a one night stand, right? There was no need to explain to Clint who he was. It wasn’t like Bucky would ever see Steve again. And it wasn’t like they hadn’t kissed each other last night and this morning. There had been lots of kisses traded. _Lots_ of them.

Just not in public – at least not sober. And not like they did it every day.

Bucky shook off the weird feeling, and smiled absently at Steve, even as he clutched the bag from T2 that much tighter in his prosthetic hand. But that was just because he still sometimes worried the signals from his brain would get crossed and he’d drop something instead of grip it. That was definitely all it was. It also didn’t matter that he’d bought the Russian tea that Steve had tried. Because he most certainly did not have any intention of taking it to Steve’s apartment so he’d have something to drink when he was there. Something that Steve might actually drink with him. He was just low on stock at home.

They only went a few stops before Steve hopped up, and they exited out onto Jay Street in DUMBO, a blast of heat hitting them full force. Bucky tried desperately to ignore the frankly _gross_ weather as they set off, and focused on the surrounding area. He’d always loved DUMBO. Sure, it was pretentious as hell – they didn’t have a pharmacy, they had an _apothecary_ – but it had an old-world charm to it that was lost in a lot of New York. Like the subway was actually transporting you back in time a hundred years to brick structures and cobblestone streets, when trolley cars ruled the road because the subway was in its infancy. You could even still see the old rail tracks peeking out of the cement and stone in a lot of places. Plus, it helped that the area had a _killer_ view of Manhattan from across the river. In another life, he could probably have seen himself living here.

“So, where are we going?” he asked lightly, even as he shoved his real hand in the pocket of his borrowed shorts, still a little off kilter from the kiss. He tried to smirk at Steve as they walked down Jay. “You aren’t planning to throw me in the East River, I hope. Finally caught up with you that you just drank tea and now you must dispatch with the one responsible for this atrocity? Lest anyone find out that you sunk to the level of the commoners? You know, I really shouldn’t get this thing wet,” he said and waved his prosthetic hand, the bag swinging awkwardly. “I mean – that’s not true. Actually, well, I _can_ get it wet, but salt water would just screw up the joints and gears, and I’m pretty sure the team over at Stanford would be none too pleased with me. Plus, you know, it’s not like I really have _time_ to just fly out to California to get it fixed, so. There’s that.”

_Shut up, Barnes!_

“Lest?” Steve said, eyebrow cocked, an amused twinkle in his eye. “Did you really just say lest?”

“That’s really all you got out of all of that?”

“Okay, but who even says that anymore? Or, you know, _ever.”_

“People who are afraid of murder plots.” He waved his hand out towards the river in front of them. “Obviously.”

“Obviously.”

Steve smiled and shook his head as he came to a stop in front of a set of stairs made of industrial-grade, diamond plated sheets of steel that led up to two large glass French doors with handles made of heavy, repurposed wood. Reminded him a bit of some of the fixtures of his restaurant.

Bucky nodded at the doors, the logo for Brooklyn Roasting Company on them. “I assume this is where we’re going.”

Steve rolled back on his heels and smiled. “You assume correctly.”

“You know I’ve heard of BRC.” Actually, Brooklyn Roasting was the coffee supplier for his restaurant, but no way was he telling Steve that.

“But have you actually ever tried the coffee?”

Oh. Uh, no. Bucky’s business partner was the one who dealt with beverage orders. That thought must have been evident on Bucky’s face, because Steve started to chuckle, nodding and smiling that smug smile of his that Bucky found equal parts irritating and adorable. (Bucky liked a guy who was confident in himself. Sue him.)

“Thought so. Come on.” Steve took his wrist and tugged his hand free from his pocket. Only he didn’t pull Bucky up the steps into the coffee shop, but kept going around the corner to a nondescript black door just past it.

“Uh, Steve?” Bucky frowned and looked around, even as Steve pulled out a set of keys and began flipping through them. “What happened to going to BRC?”

He let loose a nervous laugh. Maybe Steve really was going to do him in. Lure him to some warehouse on the pretense of a coffee tasting, only to walk into a dank room with a plastic drop cloth on the floor. Bucky had seen _American Psycho;_ he knew these executive types weren’t to be trusted.

“We aren’t going to the actual shop,” Steve answered, which _helped nothing._ He turned back and smiled at Bucky as he pulled the door open. “I can’t actually show you what I want if we do.” He stepped inside and flipped a switch.

Bucky peeked over his shoulder to find – huh. A whole office, complete with desks in the front, small offices in the back, and a kitchen off to one side. He inched inside and saw a plush couch opposite the kitchen and a loft above the offices that was accessible by a plain, black spiral staircase. The whole feel reminded him exactly of the steps and door handles to the actual coffee shop entrance around the corner – industrial meets natural. Actually, it reminded him _a lot_ of what his own office looked like above his restaurant. Antique, but not ornate. Like an old schoolhouse.

But it was still an _office_. He stood there, nonplussed, just inside the door as Steve wandered around back towards the kitchen, flipping on more lights as he went. “This is, I guess you could say, the corporate office for Brooklyn Roasting. There’s a roasting warehouse of sorts in the actual coffee shop, but this is where they do business, and also where they test out new beans and new drinks.” He’d stopped on the far side of the kitchen island and turned back, his keys a fidget of noise in his hands. Even from here, Bucky could see how pink his cheeks were as he gave a sheepish smile. “I, uh, have a key because I’m kind of a benefactor. They don’t have, like, a board of directors or anything, but I’d made a substantial donation to their company some years back and they sort of just made me...an honorary employee. Or something.”

Bucky bit his lip, because this was just too cute. “An honorary employee, huh?”

“It was a _really_ big donation.”

“Oh, I’m sure it was.” He laughed and walked over to stand on the other side of the island. “You know I can’t tell which is more nuts: the fact that you made a donation to a _coffee shop,_ or the fact that they made you an _honorary employee._ Did they give you a little hat? A plaque to put in your office? Maybe a gold star?”

“You think you’re so funny, don’t you,” Steve groused, though he was fighting a half smile.

 _“Or,”_ Bucky went on, now well into his fit of giggles, “was it an apron with your name stitched on it and ‘honorary employee’ underneath?”

Steve stopped smiling and immediately turned crimson, his eyes diverting to a point over Bucky’s shoulder. “It doesn’t say _‘honorary employee’_ on it,” Steve coughed, and it was too much. Bucky burst out laughing, slumping against the counter, tears in his eyes.

“Oh my _God,_ I have _got_ to see that! I can't believe was a dork you are!”

“And I can't believe what a dick you are,” Steve grumbled, all traces of joking gone from his voice, and Bucky looked up to find furrowed eyebrows, not a smile in sight. Bucky rewound what he said, immediately realizing that Steve maybe wasn't too far off the mark.

“Oh, hey, I’m sorry.” He pushed off the counter and rounded the island to take Steve’s hand, giving it a little shake. He ducked down to catch Steve’s eye. “Really, I’m not actually making fun of you. It’s, um, it’s cute actually. Kind of endearing,” and Bucky could feel his own blush rising. “I mean, if that’s okay to say.”

If anything, Steve’s frown deepened. “Why would that not be okay?”

“I don’t know.” Bucky shrugged. “I’m not the kind of person who does the whole one night stand, or booty call, or whatever you call this. I’m not entirely sure what the protocol is on things you can or can’t say.”

“So, if it’s not your thing, why'd you go home with me last night?”

Bucky’s blush just deepened, because he had no idea how to answer that without sounding like an ass. “I guess because...well, you were charming and funny, and despite being a corporate suit –”

_“Hey.”_

“– you’re actually pretty self-effacing,” Bucky finished, and smiled shyly. But, as Steve started to crack around the edges, he felt emboldened enough to let it slip into something avaricious, and he tugged Steve a fraction closer. “Plus, if you must know, it helps that you’re probably the hottest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”

Or maybe not so emboldened. The words were barely out of his mouth and he wanted to call them back. He felt so stupid. He really had no idea how he was supposed to do this. This wasn’t a date; this was just them doing...actually Bucky had no idea what they were doing.

He tried to duck his own head this time, but Steve put fingers under his chin, and it was all Bucky could do to look back at him. “Hottest thing you’ve ever seen, huh?”

“Maybe.” Oh god, he could feel it; his face was on _fire._

“Wanna know a secret?” Bucky had no idea how to answer that, his throat not working anyway – not with the way Steve was looking at him. Steve just pulled him closer and slipped an arm around Bucky’s waist. Then he leaned in to ghost along the shell of Bucky’s ear, “That very same thought may have been why I came over to talk to you last night.”

“But I only have one arm,” Bucky answered stupidly, even as Steve’s lips moved to hover in front of his.

“Trust me when I tell you that in no way denotes your level of hotness.” Steve lightly nipped at Bucky's bottom lip, but not enough for Bucky to get a taste of Steve's. “If anything, I’m a little intimidated by you. That thing is so state of the art – and you work it so well – I’m starting to wonder if it isn’t bionic, and if you can’t maybe kick my ass with it.”

Bucky snickered, because that was _definitely_ a first. “Guess you’ll just have to be nice to me then, huh. Wouldn’t want me to unleash the full strength of this bad boy, now, would you?”

“I promise to be very very nice,” Steve murmured, then closed the distance, the kiss hard and hungry. Bucky immediately wrapped his arms around Steve’s shoulders, trying to pull him in. He couldn’t get close enough. They slammed against the island, mouths everywhere either of them could find purchase, the hard outline of Steve’s dick pressing against Bucky’s hip. He moaned, against his better judgement – they were in somebody’s _office space_ – but that seemed to be all the invitation Steve needed. Next thing Bucky knew his legs were around Steve’s waist, and they were moving.

“Where...going?” he babbled as they stumbled out of the kitchen area.

“Bathroom,” Steve breathed against his throat. “I need your cock in my mouth right the fuck now.”

Oh. Well. The bathroom wasn’t so bad. Bucky giggled somewhat hysterically at the absurdity of the thought, but stopped caring the second he was slammed against the bathroom’s door-jamb, Steve fumbling to get the door open, because right now, dicks in mouths sounded like the best fucking idea he’d heard maybe ever in his whole life.

~~~~

“Wow, coffee tastes better than I thought it would,” Bucky huffed, breathless, where he was slumped against the tile wall, and turned a mischievous smile towards Steve.

Steve shook his head, but smiled, breathless in his own right. “That was terrible, you know that? You should be ashamed.”

“Oh, I don’t know, I thought it was pretty spectacular.”

“I’m going to assume you’ve stopped talking about coffee, and let you know it was mostly definitely my pleasure.”

Bucky shoved Steve’s shoulder, giddy and lightheaded. “Anyone ever tell you you’re arrogant?”

“Only every girlfriend I’ve ever had”

“Girlfriend, huh? Last night you said you weren’t the dating type. Should I assume this is why you stopped dating?”

“It’s why I stopped dating _girls.”_

Bucky snorted and pushed himself up, fastening his shorts as went, then held a hand out for Steve. “Well, now you can scratch guys off the list, too,” he said as he pulled Steve to his feet. “Looks like you’re just gonna have to become a monk.”

“Hey, don’t knock the monasteries,” Steve chided, as he did up his own shorts. “The monks can make some damn fantastic brews.”

“I don’t think you’re supposed to say ‘monk’ and ‘damn’ in the same sentence, Steve.”

“Well,” Steve patted Bucky lightly on the cheek, “guess you’ll just have to keep fucking me then, and save me from a life of solitude and damnation.”

“I regret everything about you, I swear to God.” Bucky tried to keep his tone light as they headed back out to the main office, but Steve’s words were rolling right through him, unnerving and unbidden. _Keep_ fucking him, he’d said. Was it a joke? Did he really want to see Bucky again? What the hell did that mean?

He was so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he almost smacked right into Steve when he stopped at the edge of the island. Great. Now he was lunatic both in his own head _and_ where people could see. This was just perfect.

Luckily, Steve didn’t seem to notice. He bent down and looked over several bags of coffee stored on the end shelves. Bucky parked himself on one of the stools while Steve muttered under his breath as he pulled out various tins and took a deep whiff of the contents, put them back, then repeated the process. He did it so many times that Bucky was half tempted to ask if he needed some alone time with the coffee.

It took several, _several_ minutes, but he finally settled on three, dropping them onto the back counter. Bucky watched him move about the kitchen, setting up cups for each, and putting what looked like mini coffee strainers over each of them. After putting the filters and fresh grounds into them, he set about pouring hot water over each one, moving in slow, methodical circles over the strainers. It looked so precise, but he moved with the surety of someone who’d been doing this for years. Knowing what little Bucky knew about Steve, he probably had.

“You look practiced at this,” he observed, breaking the silence, his voice quiet, but still louder than he was expecting in this empty office. “Didn't you use a French press at your place?”

Steve chuckled softly and smiled, but didn’t answer, just continued to create slow, small circles over the last of the coffee cups. Finally, he set the kettle aside and began moving the cups from the back counter to the island.

“I do, most days,” he said as he lined each cup up in front of Bucky, “but I actually have several different brewing mechanisms at home.” He turned back to the counter and grabbed the coffee tins, lining them up behind each cup. He then smiled again at Bucky, but Bucky didn’t miss the faint flush in his cheeks, the touch of fear in his eyes, the way his hands had stopped moving the pieces around, but hadn’t stopped _moving._ Huh. Steve was _nervous_ right now.

“Hey, Steve,” Bucky said slowly, concerned; he had no idea where this was coming from. He reached out to take Steve’s hand, but pulled back at the last second. “You okay? It’s just coffee, you know.”

“Not to me, it isn’t,” Steve murmured, so quiet Bucky almost missed it.

Bucky was momentarily floored. He’d immediately been attracted to Steve’s honesty and charm, but was probably the first time he’d seen him be so naked and open. Bucky watched Steve swallow, his face defiant, like he was daring Bucky to contradict him, but had resigned himself to it. Bucky had no idea how to respond, especially to someone he barely knew. So, he took the coward’s move and didn’t say anything.

Instead he waved a hand at the cups and gave Steve a small, reassuring smile. “So, show me.”

Steve watched him for a second before clearing his throat and looking down at the little set up between them. “So, I uh –” He stopped and cleared his throat _again,_ and seriously, Bucky had _no_ idea what was going on. Steve shook his head and went on. “I’ve basically tried every single bean here several times over, and there are definitely some I’m certain you’ll hate, but I wanted to give you three specifically to try.” He finally looked back up, and his eyes were softer again, and his smile was back in place. “See, coffee beans are actually the seeds from the cherries of two different types of plants – Arabica and Robusta. Now, every good cup of coffee you ever try will have come from Arabica beans, but well, that doesn’t mean that _all_ Arabica coffees are good. It really depends where it’s been grown, and how. On the other hand, even though it’s definitely an inferior bean, Robusta has something like...two times? Three times?... Yeah, three times as much caffeine as Arabica. It –”

“If it has so much more caffeine than why is Arabica the go-to?” Bucky cut in, because wasn’t that the point of coffee? The caffeine?

“Because it tastes like shit,” Steve answered, with a laugh. “Seriously, it’s a cheap bean, across the board. I mean, it’ll wake you up, but at what cost to your taste buds?” When Bucky laughed, Steve's smile grew wider. He really had a nice smile. “Anyway, depending on _where_ the beans are grown, you get different varietals and flavors – kind of like tea, I guess. I picked these three for you,” he said with a wave at the cups, “because you’ll get a chance to see what a light roast, medium roast, and dark roast taste like.”

“You didn’t try three for _me,”_ Bucky mumbled, but smiled nonetheless.

“That’s because you didn’t _ask,”_ Steve countered, his eyes alight with amusement.

“Whatever.” It was all Bucky could do not to stick his tongue out. “Continue.”

“Oh, why thank you; you’re too kind.” Steve moved the tins in front of the cups. “I picked these three because they’re distinctly different. Now, I’m not totally sure you’ll like the light roast here, if the tea you had me try is anything to go by, but I still wanted you to get a sense of the differences.”

Bucky picked up the tin for the light roast and read the label. It was called _Tanzania Peaberry,_ apparently boasted notes of ‘Cedar  & Summer Fruit’, and Bucky wasn’t going to lie: that really didn’t sound like his style at all. Even the label was a weird pea-green color; nothing about the coffee or the packaging sounded appetizing.

Plus. _Coffee._

“So, if you think I’m not going to like this – and I will freely admit nothing about this sounds good – why are you forcing this on me?” He looked back up. “Why do you hate me, Stevie?”

Something flashed in Steve’s eyes – there and gone in an instant – and Bucky almost missed the way Steve swallowed. Whatever it was, though, Steve immediately recovered. “Because I’m a sadist, and you should just accept your fate.”

“Figures.”

“Smell the beans first.” Steve nodded at the tin before giving the cup a little push. “Then taste this. You already know how to do a tasting, obviously, so I won’t bother explaining it.”

“Gee, thanks.” But Bucky did was he was told. The beans smelled all right, definitely lighter than he was used to, and he could kind of pick up the cedar. He took the cup next and smelled that first – detecting the same notes – and finally took two sips, letting the first sit on his tongue, but immediately swallowing the second to get the taste fresh on the back of his tongue. He set the cup down, and gave a sharp nod. “Yep, I hate it.”

“Oh my god, you barely tried it!”

“It tastes like _wood chips and watermelon!”_

“You were gonna make me drink _rose water!”_

Well that was just... “I was not!”

Steve pointed an accusatory finger at Bucky. “Don’t think I didn’t see you eyeing that weird, rose-petal, potpourri-looking shit back at that tea place, I saw you!”

“But I didn’t, did I?” Because this was all ridiculous.

“No, but you _wanted_ to.”

“I refuse to dignify that with an answer.”

Steve burst out laughing, loud and with his whole body. “I knew it!” Then he rubbed his hands together and smiled down at the coffee. “Damn, I love being right.”

As Steve stood there, his laughter subsiding into giggles, it was then Bucky realized that it wasn’t the _conversation_ that was ridiculous, but Steve himself. And Bucky couldn’t help but think that maybe he was more than just charmed by him – maybe he kind of _liked_ him.

 _Shit._ He was pretty sure this wasn't how one night stands were supposed to work. Or fuck buddies. Friends with benefits? He _really_ needed to learn his damn terminology.

“What?” Steve asked, snapping Bucky out of his head. He was smiling at Bucky, teasing. “Don’t like being called out? We aren’t a touch sensitive, are we?” He reached over and tried to pinch Bucky’s cheek, but Bucky slapped his hand out of the way.

“Ass,” Bucky muttered. “And no, I’m not _sensitive._ I was just thinking –” He had no idea how to finish that sentence. What even _was_ he thinking? He couldn’t possibly _like_ Steve. Steve was a heathen. (Steve was funny.) Steve was an arrogant ass. (Steve was the best sex Bucky’d ever had.) Steve was stubborn and rude. (Steve was one of the few people who’d looked at Bucky and had actually seen _him,_ and not his arm.) Steve was –

“Thinking about what?”

And shit, Bucky'd done it again. If Steve hadn’t thought he was nuts before, Bucky was on the fact track to changing that.

He gave his head a little shake and slapped on his _own_ most charming smile. “I was _thinking,_ after that shitshow you just made me drink, can I even trust you with the other two?”

_“Rose water.”_

_“Black-colored watermelon.”_

“Oh, just take it.” Steve picked up the next cup and handed it to Bucky. Then he pushed the tin of beans forward. “This is a medium roast, and I think you actually _will_ like this one. It’s one of my favorites, at least.”

Bucky grabbed the tin, only to snort at the label. He turned it around to show Steve. “Bespoke? Is that why you like it? Because it’s just like, what half your closet?”

Steve gave him a sly, half smile. “Not _half_ my closet.”

“Color me not surprised.” He took a whiff of the tin, which...okay, he could admit he liked this one better already. The label didn’t give notes like the last one, but he could smell a rich chocolate on it, and well, he loved chocolate. And sure enough, when he tasted the coffee, it was _vastly_ better than the last one. He might even go so far as to admit...

“Yeah, okay, I might maybe like this one,” he grumbled into the cup. He looked up to find Steve smiling wide at him, and groaned. _“Don’t_ say it.”

Steve gave a half shrug. “Wasn’t gonna.”

“Liar,” Bucky muttered, then took another sip. “At least we have this in common. We like rich flavors in our drinks.”

“Huh, I guess that’s true.”

Common ground. Bucky could work with that. He set the cup down and glanced nervously up at Steve. “You should, um, come by the restaurant sometime. My business partner picks the beans for our coffee, and I think you’d like them. He throws the word ‘rich’ around a lot to describe them, and that word just feels right up your alley.”

“I don’t know whether to be insulted, or say thanks.”

“Probably both.”

The both laughed, and Bucky went back to the coffees. He set the Bespoke aside and reached for the last one. He didn’t wait for Steve to describe it, just read the label – _Sumatra Aceh Dark Roast_ – then breathed in the smell of it. It reminded him of soil, but not in a bad way. More like the earth tones in some wines. He took a sip, and while it was good – definitely earthy and _very_ heady – it was probably a little darker than he liked. He bet that this was the kind of coffee that, if it was brewed wrong, would be really bitter.

“Yeah,” he started with a nod, “I definitely like that Bespoke one the best.”

“So, you’re saying you like your coffee like you like your men?” Steve commented, that smirk firmly back in place. “

“Well, I will say this,” Bucky commented, and smirked around the lip of the mug, “there is definitely _nothing_ off the rack about this drink. Or you.”

When Steve laughed this time, Bucky felt it all the way down to his toes.


	5. Chapter 5

“You’re trying to drug me, aren’t you,” Bucky muttered, his eyes zeroed in on the beautiful swirl of crema atop the tiny cup of café Cubano in front of him. At least, Steve thought it was beautiful – the smooth, almost fluffy, caramel-colored layer that covered the rich, sweet espresso underneath. It took the right kind of balance of sugar and coffee to make the perfect café Cubano, but when it was done right...the drink was like candy.

Bucky apparently didn’t agree, if the look of pure disdain that marred his features was anything to go by. “Why are you trying to drug me with your liquid crack, Steve? Are you _actively_ trying to kill me? Is this so you can start your master plan of brainwashing me and turning me into a disgusting coffee lover? It won’t work.”

“It is _not_ that bad,” Steve laughed. Because it really wasn’t. “I’m not kidding, Buck, try it. I think you might actually like it.”

“I see your tricks. And also, we talked about the whole ‘Buck’ thing. You don’t get to call me that when you’re actively trying to do me in.”

Steve just snorted and picked up his own cup to take a sip. The sugar and coffee mix was _perfect,_ and Steve actively had to bite down on a moan.

After Brooklyn Roasting, Steve suggested grabbing lunch at a great Cuban place he knew in Cobble Hill.  Somehow, he wasn't surprised that Bucky also knew about it -- someone who made their living in the restaurant industry probably knew all the best spots.  And Cafe Cubano really was one of the best places to get Cuban food in the whole of New York. Steve loathed the day _Time Out Magazine_ got their hands on them and gave them a rave review. The place would be insufferably crowded after that.

He sat back against the bench, his cup held tightly in his hands, and smiled. “So, you were telling me about your restaurant? You know, before I apparently tried to drug you?”

Bucky pointed the spoon from his flan accusingly at Steve. “You _are_ trying to drug me. Caffeine is a drug, my friend. And this _”_ – he waved the spoon at the coffee – “I am _certain_ is the ultimate drug.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s heroin, actually.”

“Not looking for details of your random Tuesdays, Steve.”

Steve scoffed before dipping his fingers into his water and flicking them at Bucky. He laughed at the tiny flail he got for his troubles, only to shrink back when Bucky whacked him on the back of the hand with the damn spoon. He rubbed his hand, gave Bucky his best sad puppy frown.

“Don’t even pretend you didn’t deserve that,” Bucky admonished, apparently lost to the puppy charm, the hateful spoon once again pointed at Steve’s sternum. Steve narrowed his eyes and stared Bucky down, but Bucky didn’t waver. Steve couldn’t take it, the dower look on Bucky’s face was hysterical, and he eventually cracked, a smile spreading across his lips for the idiot in front of him.

Bucky took a huge bite of his flan and grinned wide, cheeky and smug, and kind of adorable. “Anyway, as I was saying, I got the money for the restaurant after the settlement from my accident.”

“Do you –” Steve started, as a new question popped into his head, only to freeze, certain his cheeks pinking up. Bucky cocked his head, and Steve gave a half shrug. “Do you, uh, mind me asking what happened?” He waved a hand at Bucky’s prosthetic. “To your arm, I mean?”

“Oh.” Bucky blinked and looked down, his eyes suddenly very intent on his half-finished dessert. He gave his own shy half-shrug, the smile tight around his mouth. “T-boned, broad daylight. He didn’t even pause at the red light, just” – he zipped his hand across in front of him – “plowed right through and into the side of my car – _my_ side of the car.” He finally looked back up at Steve, his eyes cautious in a way that made Steve’s stomach roil. “The impact caught my arm between the door and the steering wheel, and well...they couldn’t save it. I, uh, don’t remember any of it, though. Like, literally, _none_ of it, not even anything from that day. I remember being at work the night before and then waking up in the hospital two days later.”

 _“Jesus,”_ Steve murmured, sick and horrified. But before he could offer up even an attempt at an apology, Bucky was already waving him off.

“Seriously, Steve, it’s fine. It’s been years, and I’m good,” he said, then wiggled his metal fingers. “I have some pretty cool ass tech attached to me, and after all the physical therapy _ever,_ it’s like I’m not even really missing my arm. I have no more hindrances in my day-to-day, honest.”

Steve wanted to ask if Bucky was sure, wanted to apologize for even asking, wanted to still offer some sort of condolence, but stopped himself on every front. The look in Bucky’s eyes told him there really was nothing to worry about, and Steve prided himself in taking people at their word. Instead, he just nodded.

“Okay, so what happened after that?” he asked, instead. “You said something about a settlement?”

“Oh!” Bucky shook his head. He blinked down at the flan like he’d forgotten it was even there, and took another bite. “Yeah, so okay, during my PT, my therapist had suggested I take up cooking as a way to practice dexterity. You know, like cutting onions and such –”

“Wait, wait wait.” Steve waved a hand, incredulous. “Are you telling me, your therapist thought the best way to practice your dexterity was to _wield a knife?”_

“Nothing like the fear of losing a finger in the morning to get a man back on his feet.”

“I’m sorry... _what?”_

Bucky snorted. “It’s what my physical therapist used to say to me.”

“Your physical therapist is insane.”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure Wade has been called worse things. _A lot_ worse things.”

Steve shuddered, and tried to lose the mental picture of Bucky accidentally slipping on an onion. He still had all his other fingers, so he knew there was clearly nothing to worry about. “Anyway, I’m assuming it worked out for you.”

“Well, duh.” Bucky shook his head. “I know I’ve got skill. But as it is _yes,_ it worked out. But, well, you know, not without breaking a few eggs along the way.” He turned his hand back and forth, and stared at it. “Turns out it’s a lot harder than it looks to learn how to _not_ squeeze things.”

“Wait, how many eggs _did_ you break?”

“Um...a lot.”

“Okay, but how many is a lot?”

“Yeah, sorry, no. That number dies with me.”

“You should actually put it _on_ your grave.”

Bucky’s eyes lit up, and there went with the spoon-pointing again. “Now _there’s_ an idea.”

Steve laughed. He'd been kidding, but leave it to Bucky to think that was a good idea. “You know, you’re like that old lady who always jokes about taking her famous chocolate chip cookies to the grave, only to put it on her headstone.”

“And don’t you forget it,” Bucky said, with a little smirk. “But as I was saying, I actually had an aptitude for cooking and making up recipes, and whatnot, so when I got my settlement from the accident, my best friend, Sam, convinced me to use it to go to culinary school, and then eventually to open the restaurant. He’d been in the business for a while – oh, he’s a master mixologist and certified sommelier,” Bucky added, a hint of pride in his eyes. “We decided to open _Furnace 17_ together.”

“You know, I was at your grand opening,” Steve interjected.

Bucky paused mid-bite. “Wait, really?”

“Mhm.” Steve nodded. “I think I even met Sam. Tall black guy, sass streak a mile wide, was working the bar, right?”

“Oh yeah, that was definitely Sam.” Bucky snorted, his eyes going fond. “He hated our first bartender. Didn’t think he had what it took to mix drinks right, because Sam is nothing if not a freaky perfectionist –”

“No wonder you guys are friends.”

“You shut it.” But the smile never left Bucky's face. “And yes, there’s a reason we work well together, and a reason I like to think the restaurant has been such a success.”

“You don’t accept anything less than the best?"

“Exactly.”

“You know, it’s a shame I didn’t meet you that night.” Steve drained the last of his coffee and pushed it off to the side before attacking Bucky’s. It would have been blasphemous to let such amazingness go to waste. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, Sam’s a riot. And the drinks he made were some of the best I've _ever_ had, but you know. It would have been nice to meet you too.”

“Why, so we could've gotten this fight over with months ago, and my hedonistic tea-loving ass would be out of your life already?” Bucky teased with a laugh, though it didn’t quite meet his eyes. Steve wasn’t sure what to make of it, but he knew he didn’t like it. It made him feel oddly sad.

“Uh, no, actually.” He gave Bucky a little half shrug, and a smile to match it. “You were really charming last night, the way you were talking about your restaurant...and I guess...I think you’d probably look...even much more stunning. Being in your element, I mean.”

Bucky just stared at him. Steve felt like he was under a spotlight – he had no idea where _any_ of that had come from. It was several heartbeats before Bucky finally moved, slowly reaching across the table to pluck the espresso out of Steve’s hands. He brought it up to his lips, his smile tentative, shy, and a touch wary, and took a sip.

“Just as I suspected,” Bucky finally said as he set the cup down and slid it back towards, Steve.

“Suspected what?” Steve asked, thoroughly confused.

“That I was right. You’re just sad you couldn’t do me in all those months ago with your murder drug right there.” He pushed back from the table, and Steve had to tilt back as Bucky loomed over him. “I told you before, I ain’t falling for it!”

Bucky turned and stalked out of the restaurant. Steve tipped sideways on the bench, he was laughing so hard. “Oh my god, I’m not trying to drug you!” he shouted after Bucky’s retreating form.

~~~~

“It was liquid crack, Steve,” Bucky huffed, and Steve had to jog slightly to catch up to him as they made their way up 42nd Street, the bag with their purchases smacking against his leg. “You tricked me into drinking _liquid crack.”_

“Okay, fine you got me,” Steve jokingly conceded as he tried to fight down a smile. Bucky had been harping on him ever since they left the restaurant, and while Steve normally would have found it annoying, on Bucky it was weirdly endearing. “I tried to serve you delicious, delicious liquid crack.”

“At least you finally admitted it. Where are we going, anyway?” Bucky asked, though it came across as more of a grumble. “Are you taking me somewhere _else_ that has a drink that could kill me?”

 _“I wasn’t trying to_ – never mind.” Steve threw up his hands and kept walking. “No, I’m not taking you somewhere that has killing drinks.”

“Better not.”

Steve turned the corner onto 9th Street, stopping right in front of _Empire Coffee & Tea_. He held his hands out at the sign. “Look! It’s our shop. They combined both our worlds.”

“Except for how I’ve been in there, and that is not _tea_ they carry in there.” “So, what is it then?” Because Steve was pretty sure they had a whole _wall_ of tea.

 _“That,”_ Bucky pointed an accusing metal finger at the shop, “is the worst kind of store-bought shit that’s trying to pass itself off, as you so colorfully put it, as leaf-flavored water.” He then turned the glare Steve's way. “It’s crap, is what I’m telling you.”

“Yeah, I kind of picked up on that.”

“So, then where are we going next? Or _are_ we going someplace next? I mean, I guess if this is the last –”

Steve grabbed onto Bucky’s bicep to keep him from walking away. “No, wait.” Bucky’s eyes dropped to Steve’s hand, and Steve instantly let go. He waved awkwardly at the front door. “That wasn’t the only reason I brought you here.”

“So, you _aren’t_ about to force crap tea on me?”

Steve huffed a laugh. “Nope. I’m not even going to force crap coffee on you.” He leaned in conspiratorially, and dropped his voice. “If we’re being totally honest, the coffee they brew here for the customers is kind of horrible. But there’s a particular coffee _bean_ I think you’ll get a kick out of.”

“A kick out of?”

“It’s very, um...patriotic?”

“Because we have so much to be patriotic about these days.”

“Yeah, I think this one will restore a little bit of that love.”

“Okay, now I’m fucking curious.”

Steve took Bucky’s metal hand, pulling him toward the front door.

~~~~

“He has his own coffee bean.”

“And the best part is that it’s actually really good.”

“Why am I not surprised you’ve tried it.”

Steve snorted. “Have you _met_ me?”

“Good point.” Bucky turned to Steve, the twinkle back in his eye. “So, Obama has his own coffee, huh?”

“Seems so,” Steve said, and nodded at the burlap sack with the _Obama Blend_ sign sticking out of it. The whole side of the store was lined with the same sacks, with coffees from almost every region of the world, mixed in with custom blends unique to the shop. The Obama coffee was a mix of Kenya, Sumatra, and Kona, from Hawaii. And it really was a pretty amazing blend.

“Okay, so I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but” – Bucky gritted his teeth, a cringe rippling across his shoulders – “but I’m gonna need to try it.”

Steve had to fight to keep from snickering. “Oh, well uh, you won’t want it here, if it’s on brew. I wasn’t kidding about the coffee they serve being crap.” He looked over his shoulder at the employees bustling about behind the counter. “But um...” Steve turned back to Bucky, and _again,_ felt his nerves tickling along his spine. “We can get some, and I’ll make you a cup back at my place. I mean. If you want.”

Bucky stared at him, his own face a blank mask, and for reasons Steve couldn’t figure out, he desperately wanted to know what was going on in Bucky’s head.

“Well, I mean,” Bucky started, his arms tightening infinitesimally across his chest, “you _have_ proven that you can brew a pretty decent cup of coffee. “I guess I can trust you to make something I _might_ like.”

Steve ignored the tiny thrill that went through him. _“Might_ like?”

“Might.”

“I think I can live with ‘might’.”

Bucky smiled at him, shy, and nudged him with his shoulder. “Go pick up a bag.”

Steve tried not to rush the counter as he did.

~~~~

Broadway in SoHo, between Houston and Canal Street, was one of the busiest streets in all of Manhattan. New York was known for its fashion, and the amalgamation of so many popular brands along the half-mile stretch made it so that anyone with an AmEx and a love of marathon shopping could spend endless hours outfitting their wardrobe several times over.

Steve wasn’t the biggest fan. Sure, he liked clothes as much as the next guy, but he always felt a little too harried on Broadway. Like it was all some sort of competition to see who could end up with the most shopping bags by day’s end. It also didn’t help that the area was always crawling with both tourists _and_ natives. And truth be told, Steve _hated_ crowds. Byproduct of growing up in Los Angeles, where if you wanted to spend time in a crowd, you actually had to make the effort and drive there. In New York, crowds tended to appear without warning.

As he and Bucky made their way down the street, Steve had to fight the stiffness in his shoulders, the tightness in his jaw. Bucky had said he wanted to take Steve someplace around here, but what could possibly warrant fighting the weekend crowds, Steve had no idea. He was already halfway to bolting, because seriously, why was he putting up with this? He barely knew Bucky, probably wouldn’t see him again after today, or maybe this weekend, so why was he currently tripping over some bottle-blonde coming out of Dean and Deluca too busy bitching into her phone to realize Steve was half an inch off from accidentally sending her and her many, _many_ bags flying across the sidewalk. When he still ended bumping into her shoulder, she looked at him, affronted, like it was somehow his fault that she couldn't be bothered to pay attention to her surroundings.

“This place much further?” Steve asked through gritted teeth.

“Just a couple blocks, off Broome.”

“Great,” he muttered to himself. “Two more blocks. Awesome.”

That seemed to catch Bucky’s attention. He stopped and turned a wary eye on Steve. “Hey, you okay?”

“Lovely.”

“Look, if you don't want to do this...”

“It's fine, okay?” Steve waved a hand down the street. “Can we please keep going?”

An array of emotions clouded Bucky's features, before shuttering into a carefully schooled mask. Then he crossed his arms, his chin defiant. “You know what, it's fine. I think we've both made our point. Coffee isn’t the total Anti-Christ, and you didn’t gag when I gave you that tea to try.” He nodded at the bag on Steve’s arm. “I’ll just take what I bought, and we can go our separate ways.”

He made to reach for it, and Steve immediately felt like shit. He grabbed Bucky’s arm before he could stop himself. “Bucky, wait,” he said, only to let go at the look on Bucky’s face. He wrapped his arms around himself and stepped in close, schooling himself for the inevitable embarrassment. “I’m sorry, okay? I just...I don’t like crowds.”

“Oh.” Bucky's eyes softened in understanding. Then he placed a hand on Steve’s arm, and Steve couldn’t explain why he felt such palpable relief at the touch. “Why didn’t you say so before? We could’ve skipped this, you know, come back...another day, or you know, not at all or – something. Whatever.” His hand slipped off Steve’s arm, down to his side, his eyes following suit. “It would have been fine. We could, um, go. If you want.”

Steve’s gut instinct was to say _yes, let’s get the hell out of here._ But something in Bucky’s expression told him wherever they were going, it was important. And, for reasons that defied God and Man, the very last thing Steve wanted was to see any form of disappointment in Bucky’s steel-blue eyes.

He unclenched his arms to hook a finger with one on Bucky’s prosthetic hand. He didn’t miss the slight hitch in Bucky’s breath – it drowned out all the rest of the noise around them. “You said it was only two blocks down, right?” he asked quietly.

“Yeah,” Bucky whispered back, his eyes glued to their joined fingers. “On Broome.”

“You said that already.”

“Yeah, I guess I did.”

“Take me there?”

Bucky’s answering smile was small, but bright enough to power the sun. “Yeah, okay.” He twined the rest of their fingers together and gently pulled Steve along, guiding them through the throng of people. It wasn’t long before they turned down Broome Street, and Bucky stopped in front of a set of gray-green French doors, simple and almost indistinguishable amongst the surrounding buildings, the words _Harney & Sons_ in gold foil on the glass.

They stepped inside, and it was all Steve could do not to ogle at the sheer _size_ of the interior. High ceilings stretched up almost two stories, with the walls on either side lined with shelves upon shelves of tea. One side was comprised of tins of both loose-leafed and bagged tea, in as many flavors and varieties as they’d seen at T2, if not more so. The other side held what looked like a tasting bar, with a back wall of floor-to-ceiling canisters of tea, and stretching down the center of the shop were tables upon tables of accessories for making and serving tea, as well as food items, like honeys and baked goods. The place was also almost twice as deep as it was tall, with a tiny café in the back, with a small section of tables and a barista bar.

“It’s like the damn TARDIS in here,” he murmured, as he took everything in.

“What was that?” Bucky gave his hand a little shake – he hadn’t realized they were still holding hands – and he looked up to find curious eyes staring back at him.

“Oh, uh, it’s just...” He waved awkwardly at the room. “You know, it’s bigger on the inside.”

“You mean smaller on the outside,” Bucky replied, and holy shit, he _knew_ Doctor Who.

Steve tried really hard not to gape. He’d been a closet Whovian ever since a nasty bout of pneumonia had laid him up in a hospital in Yorkshire for three weeks. Watching reruns of Doctor Who had been the only thing that had kept him from being completely bored out of his skull. But in Steve’s line of work, being a nerd of any sort tended to be frowned upon.

“You’re a Clara fan, then?” he asked, as casually as he could.

“Donna, actually,” Bucky answered with huff of laughter, and pulled them deeper inside, heading toward the back. “Clara always acted like she could one-up the Doctor, but Donna was the only one who absolutely gave no fucks.”

“It’s not every day I meet a fellow Who fan.”

Bucky snorted. “Yeah, you should see me and Sam when a new season comes out. We’re pretty obnoxious.”

“Color me shocked.”

“Like you’re any better.”

“Guilty as charged.”

They came to a stop at the ‘Wait To Be Seated’ sign in front of the café, and Bucky turned, humor dancing in his eyes. “Yeah, well, just...If you’re an Eleven fan, don’t tell Sam. He might murder you.”

“Why, is he a Tenant fan?”

“Nah, Sam’s a purist.”

“Ah. Eccleston, then.”

Before Bucky could answer, a cute, petite brunette walked up, and smiled at Bucky. “Well, hello, my love,” she greeted, then turned to Steve. “And who’s this? He’s much too stacked to be Becca, James. Unless Becca was a six-foot-built blonde all this time, and you were just holding out on me.”

Steve felt his cheeks go pink as Bucky laughed and patted him on the chest. “Nope, Becca’s still just Becca, I’m afraid. She’s still up at school.”

“Still at Harvard, then?”

“The blood traitor that she is.”

“She’s at _Harvard,_ Bucky. That hardly makes her a traitor.”

“Boston, Suzy. _Boston.”_

Suzy laughed again and shook her head. “You’re hopeless, you know that.” Then she gestured at Steve. “So, are you going to introduce me?”

“Oh, sorry. Suzy, this is Steve, my...friend,” he answered, his cheeks pinking up. “Steve, this is Suzy, the manager here, and an old friend.”

Steve stuck out his free hand and smiled. “It’s nice to meet you, Suzy.”

“Likewise,” she answered, shaking his hand. Then she looked around at the full café. “It'll be about twenty minutes.”

Bucky nodded, then nudged at Steve’s shoulder. “Come on, I’ll show you around. You got two places today, it’s only fair I get to continue your education.”

“Education?” Suzy repeated.

Bucky cocked his head in Steve’s direction. _“Someone_ over here hates –”

“Oh my _God,_ don’t you dare say I hate tea again!” Sure enough, Suzy’s eyes went wide, but before she could accuse _Steve_ of being the blood traitor around here, he kept going: “It... _may_ have been discovered this morning that where I’m not a fan of tea, Bucky here isn’t exactly a fan of coffee. So, we’ve spent the day schooling each other.”

“Wait, let me get this straight.” Suzy waved a hand between them. “You two felt the need to drag each other all over New York City, just to prove a point.” Her eyes narrowed. “A point over tea and coffee.”

Steve blinked. “Uh, yeah.”

 _“Tea_ and _coffee.”_

“That’s what – yeah.” Bucky exchanged a shrug with Steve. He clearly had no idea what the problem was either.

 _“Tea and coffee,”_ she repeated, hands on her hips now, and it was all Steve could do to just nod back. She stared at them for a moment longer before throwing up her hands and turning on her heel. “Fucking _men,”_ she mumbled, as she walked away. “Always a dick dance.”

Steve leaned in close to Bucky so he wouldn't be overheard. “Are we in trouble?”

“”I think so.”

“Think she’ll seat us anymore?”

“I have no idea.”

“Do we stay?”

“I’m actually afraid to leave.”

“Same.”

They turned to each other, and Steve knew his eyes were just as wide as Bucky’s. It wasn’t long, though, before they both dissolved into a fit of giggles, and Bucky grabbed his arm, steering him back to the main part of the shop.

As they wandered around, Bucky gave Steve a history of, quote, his favorite tea shop in New York. And he knew every single person on staff – and not just their names. He asked Jeff, the guy up front, how school was going, and chatted with David and Clare – the two running the tasting bar – how their respective kids were doing. David even thanked Bucky for catering his wife’s birthday party the month before, apparently free of charge.

There was something here, and it wasn’t just Bucky’s love of tea; he was _invested_ in this place, on par with – or maybe even more – than Steve was in BRC. It made Steve wonder, because Steve’s love of his favorite coffee shop – and coffee in general – actually had a really personal origin for him. He wondered if the same wasn’t true for Bucky and tea.

He was about to ask, when Suzy stalked up to them and jerked her head in the direction of the café. “Table’s ready. If you two lunatics would follow me, I’ll seat you.”

Neither of them bothered to respond, they just dutifully followed her to a small table tucked into a corner. Despite the fact that all the tables were stacked on top of each other, this particular one felt intimate. And considering Suzy couldn’t hide her fondness for Bucky behind her faux scowl, Steve suspected it was probably done on purpose. It should’ve bothered him – her clear assumption that this was a date. But the only thing he felt was affection. He realized he actually...kind of liked it. And that bothered him more. He glanced at Bucky, who was busy laying his napkin in his lap, and tried to find that feeling of casual lust that was there just this morning. And while there still _was_ lust, he wasn’t sure exactly how casual it was anymore.

Then Bucky looked up, a shy but curious half-smile on his face. “What? Something on my face?”

Steve didn’t answer. That smile was making his stomach flip in the most pleasant, if unnerving, of ways, and as Bucky continued to stare back at him, his smile becoming something softer – something sweet – Steve finally admitted he was in trouble. For the first time in years, he realized he wanted to be the reason for that smile, and not just from good sex. He wanted the affection that seemed to be behind it. He wanted to wake up to that smile again tomorrow morning _,_ and maybe even all the mornings after that.

Bucky was ridiculous – a veritable clash of contradictions. He was both self-conscious about his arm, but defied anyone to talk down to him about it. He was shy, but passionate. He appeared to genuinely care about all the people around him, but would gladly tell you to fuck off if he thought you were wrong about something. But Steve suspected, regardless of their admittedly strange disagreement, and even though they had met only the night before, that Bucky would be there for him in a heartbeat if he needed it.

And, for the first time since Peggy chose her career over Steve, he maybe, just maybe, wanted someone to be there for him. Maybe even wanted that someone to be the man sitting across from him.

“No,” Steve finally answered and looked away, breaking the moment. Then he offered a good-natured smile. “Nothing other than that ugly mug your mama gave you.”

“Except for how earlier you couldn’t stop talking about my hotness.”

“Meh.” Steve waved him off. “The more you push this tea thing on me, the less pretty you become.”

“Oh, gee, thanks,” Bucky answered, but laughed along with Steve. They opened their menus then, and Steve had to admit he was impressed by how nice they were. A heavy-solid leather binding filled with beautiful mulberry paper. Not the sort of quality he found in most cafés.

Or, well, he was impressed until he turned the page and saw the list of teas, and his stomach dropped out from underneath him. “No,” he muttered.

Bucky looked up from his own menu. “No, what?”

He continued to stare, horrified, at the _pages_ of tea listings. He spotted six different kinds of ‘breakfast’ teas, and that was just at a glance. “There are not this many teas in the world.”

Bucky snorted, and Steve wanted to smack him. “Amazing, isn’t it. It’s almost like, you know, tea is one of the most popular drinks _in the world,_ or something.”

“You’re not helping!” Steve griped, but then metal fingers were gently cupping his hand where he gripped the menu.

“Want me to pick for you?” Bucky asked.

“No, I can do this,” Steve answered stubbornly. Bucky shrugged and started to pull his hand away, and the next thing Steve knew, he’d turned his hand awkwardly to lock fingers with him. Bucky blinked in surprise, but Steve resolutely ignored it.

He went back to perusing the menu, even though he really no idea what he was looking at. He was so out of his depth, but no way was he going to let Bucky win this one, even if Steve had just grabbed his hand like this was some sort of _date,_ which it very much _wasn’t._

He picked the first tea that had a somewhat interesting, but at least familiar-sounding, name. “I’ll take the Royal English Breakfast,” he said, tapping the menu before closing it. Truthfully, he could have ordered those damn bay leaves, for all he cared. The only thing he could focus on at the moment was the fact that he was still holding Bucky's hand. Like an _idiot._ “I mean, if it’s good enough for the Windsors, it can’t be all bad, right?”

Bucky opened his mouth, only to close it and nod. “You’re absolutely right,” he said, then shut his own menu. “I’ll get the same thing, so we can just get one large pot, instead of two small ones.”

His eyes ticked over to their joined hands, and Steve couldn’t think of a reason to keep holding on, so he pulled back and shoved his hands into his lap. “But, uh, what if I don’t like it? Wouldn’t a small one be safer, just in case?”

Bucky flexed his metal fingers before mirroring Steve’s move, hands in his own lap. He looked slightly uncomfortable, and Steve felt the first stirrings of real mortification. “Well, if you don’t like it, I’ll just drink the rest for both of us.”

“Sorry about that,” Steve blurted out, ignoring Bucky’s response, and wondered if his face had actually caught fire, he was so embarrassed.

“Sorry about what?”

“Sorry about that weird, uh, hand-holding thing. I have no idea what that was about.”

Except for how he _did,_ but no way was he going to say anything.

“Oh,” Bucky whispered, and looked down. “No, it was okay. It was, um...nice. Actually.”

Steve’s stomach did that flip flop thing again. “Yeah?”

Bucky just shrugged, but he didn’t look up. “Yeah, I mean, no one ever wants to hold that hand, so. You know.” He shrugged again, and any awkwardness Steve felt about...whatever-the-hell was going on...slipped away, and he slowly slid his hand back across the table, stopping only when he knew Bucky could see him.

Bucky looked up, his expression wary, and while Steve had no doubt Bucky could take care of himself, that look made Steve want to beat the crap out of every person who’d ever made Bucky feel bad about his arm.

“Can I?” he asked quietly.

Bucky hesitated, but he slowly pulled his hand out of his lap and held it out. Steve laced their fingers together again, then brought Bucky’s hand up to his mouth, where he pressed a light kiss into the back of it. The metal was slightly warm, and Steve absently remembered him saying something about state-of-the art temperature regulation: that it was partly solar-powered, but also had a power core that worked to keep it from freezing.

It was seriously one of the coolest pieces of technology Steve had ever seen, and he couldn’t fathom why _anyone_ would want to make Bucky feel like it was anything less than a marvel. His accident had been horrific, but something amazing had come out of it, and Steve wanted nothing more than to make sure Bucky always knew that his arm was as special as the rest of him.

Bucky eyes were glued to his hand, his jaw tight, his breathing shallow, and Steve turned his hand over to press a kiss to his palm, before taking it in both of his. “If it’s all right with you,” he began, “I’d like to hold your hand as much as possible for the rest of the day. ”

Bucky’s voice was strained when he spoke. “Did you...so you wanted to do something after? Or did you mean while we’re –”

“I thought maybe we could grab dinner after this.” Steve gave him a small smile and kissed the tips of Bucky’s fingers. “I know a great Turkish place up off 45th?”

“Antalia?”

“You know it?”

Bucky nodded. “Their beef and lamb adana is pretty killer. Also, you know, the Turks make a good tea.”

Steve couldn’t help but smile. “They also make really good coffee.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard about Turkish coffee, Steve. It sounds about as fun as that Cuban coffee you wanted me to try,” Bucky responded, with a laugh. Then his eyes slid past Steve, and it was only then Steve realized Suzy had walked up to the table.

“I figure if you guys have moved on from staring at the menu to staring into each other’s eyes, it means you’re ready to order.”

Bucky blushed and pulled away, though his fingers brushed slowly against the palm of Steve’s hand. He turned a charming smile on Suzy. “Like I even need to _look_ at the menu.”

“No customer has ever had it as well-memorized as you, it’s true,” she agreed. She took their order for a large pot of tea, and Bucky added in a couple orders of vanilla scones, swearing up and down they were a perfect addition to the tea.

The order didn’t take long to arrive, and as much as Steve still hated to admit it, the tea was pretty good, especially for an afternoon drink. He was starting to get why the Brits were big on this, and even said so.

“It really is perfect for mid-afternoon,” Bucky agreed, as he put some of the clotted cream and jam onto a piece of scone. He popped it into his mouth and swallowed before continuing. “See, the thing you don’t get is that tea is a much _easier_ caffeinated drink to have than coffee. Less of a crash afterward, especially when compared to the espresso drinks you people seem to favor after a meal instead of this.”

“Us people?” Steve asked, and cocked an eyebrow.

“Yes.” Bucky pointed a piece of scone at him. “You people – hey!” he yelped as Steve bit the scone right out from between his fingers. But he then gave a soothing little lick to the pad of Bucky’s thumb, and patted himself on the back at the way Bucky’s breath hitched.

“You were saying?” he asked, his voice husky as he looked up at Bucky through lowered lashes. “What was that you were mocking about my people?”

Bucky stared at Steve's mouth a few more seconds before giving his head a shake. “That’s playing dirty.”

Steve shrugged, completely unrepentant. “At least you know I like to play.”

“Oh, I was well aware of that.”

“Just making sure we haven’t gotten any wires crossed,” he said with a laugh. Then he remembered the question he’d wanted to ask Bucky earlier.  “So, tell me something,” he asked. “What’s the deal with this place?”

Bucky frowned. “What do you mean? Deal with what?”

Steve waved a hand around the shop. “This place, this store. I mean, earlier, with Suzy and the people up front, you just...I don’t know, you seem to really know it. Even more so than where you took me earlier.”

Inexplicably, Bucky started blushing. “Oh, yeah, that.” He scratched his nose, a little crinkle forming between his eyebrows. “I’ve – well, I’ve been coming here at least once a month for...about fifteen years now?”

“Wait, seriously?” Steve counted that off in his head. “That means you would have been, what, in high school?”

“Yeah, sixteen.” If anything, Bucky’s cheeks pinkened even further. “Uh, when Becca was about four, she was _super_ into tea parties with her dolls. Like the full set up, with a table and chairs and fancy little tea set. She probably had a tea party every day for months. Anyway, for her birthday, I asked my parents if we could surprise her with a real tea party, but my mom decided it would be better if I just took Becca myself.” He started fiddling with his napkin, ripping it into small pieces, his gaze intently focused on his work.

“See, the thing was, I was going off and doing a lot of ‘big kid’ things by myself, as Becca liked to point out, and she always wanted to come with. She was just this really cute, precocious kid, who was...” He huffed a laugh, a fond smile on his lips. “Steve, that damn kid has been freakishly independent since she could walk, and well, I mean my mom was right. As much as I think she hated the idea of missing Becca's birthday, she knew that Becca would be over the _moon_ if we went, just the two of us. So, we did,” he said with a shrug. “We got really dressed up – like  Easter-best dressed up – and I took her here as a surprise. We, uh, we even brought a few of her dolls along, and we had our own real, live tea party. She still says it was the best birthday party she’s ever had.”

He stopped there, but continued shredding the napkin, and this time, Steve didn’t hesitate. He reached out and took Bucky’s metal hand and kissed it again. When Bucky finally looked up, Steve smiled. “So, how did you end up coming here once a month?”

“Oh, well, after that Becca begged me if we could go again sometime soon, and so I just started taking her here every month. We’d get dressed up, just like the first time, and go have our Bucky/Becca time.

“And you know what the funny thing is? We haven’t missed a single one – not during all the times we hated each other, or after my accident, or even with her off at school. I mean, she had to find a tea place up in Boston, but she goes there, and I go here, and we FaceTime. Though, I try and go up to her every few months so we can go together.”

He gave Steve a half-smile. “It’s why I love tea so much. Tea is the reason my sister is my best friend in the whole world.”

Steve stared at him, floored. It was possibly the sweetest thing he had ever heard, and whatever thoughts he’d had about Bucky being a snob vanished in an instant. Because he knew what that felt like – having such a deep love for something because it reminded him of something precious.

And, in that moment, two separate things washed over him, crystal clear, vivid and bright:

He missed his mother so much, it was a physical ache.

He knew, with the kind of certainty reserved only for absolute truth, that he was completely and totally gone on Bucky Barnes.


	6. Chapter 6

“I can’t believe you’re making us walk all the way uptown,” Bucky grumbled, but he couldn’t help smiling at Steve as they made their way along 5th Avenue.

“What kind of New Yorker are you if you’re going to complain about walking?”

“The kind that’s a _real_ New Yorker,” he shot back, making a face. “We all got over the leisurely stroll to see the city ages and ages ago.”

“Yeah, well, I haven’t, so humor me.”

“Yeah, yeah.” As much as Bucky was bitching, he really wasn’t bothered by the walk. The sun was still bright in the sky, though, as it dipped down to the west, the overbearing heat tapering off to something manageable.

And while all those things were nice, Bucky barely noticed any of it, not with the way his insides were doing somersaults. Because the moment they left Harney & Sons, Steve had taken his hand – taken Bucky’s _metal_ hand, just like he’d said he wanted to. And he was still holding it, like it was something real, and Bucky could just about cry, though he wasn’t sure if it was out of gratitude or sadness. Not one person who’d crossed Bucky’s path since his accident had treated him like a whole person. And yet, here was Steve, who’d not only gone out of his way to make Bucky feel special back at Harney, but was still doing it.

But as much as Bucky wanted to take comfort that someone outside of his family could actually give a shit about him – and as much as he thought he might want that person to be Steve – he knew he was just projecting. He knew he wasn’t supposed to have feelings for a bar hookup.

He glanced down at where their first two fingers were laced together. “Hey, can I ask you a question.”

Steve glanced at him. “Sure.”

Bucky hesitated, unsure now how to ask what was going through his head. “I just, um...I was wondering why you think you need to hold my hand?” He knew instantly it was the wrong way to phrase it, and sure enough Steve’s face shuttered and he started to pull away. Bucky tightened his grip and shook his head. “No, I – that’s not what I meant.” He sighed and stopped walking before pulling them off to the side.

“What is it?” Steve asked, quietly. He looked uncomfortable as he gazed down at their still-joined hands, and Bucky could have just about kicked himself. “If you don’t want me to, or don’t like it, I totally understand. Really.”

“I’m sorry, that came out wrong, I swear.”

“Then what did you mean?”

Bucky sighed again, and looked up the street, watched the hustle of people go by, all of them living their lives, totally oblivious to the idiot hiding under some scaffolding, scared to death that, the moment Steve let go of his hand, it would be the end.

He huffed and finally looked back at Steve. “I guess I’m just wondering if you’re doing it out of pity. Which, you don’t need to. I’m a big boy, and I don’t hate my arm. I know what I said back at Harney, but I really _am_ okay, you know. I got over my anger at losing my arm a long time ago. But, you know, I also know what it looks like, and you don’t have to pretend that it’s not weird –”

“Bucky, _stop._ ”

Bucky immediately clamped his mouth shut, equal parts relieved and completely unnerved at the intense look on Steve’s face. Steve slowly walked him backwards, crowding him up against the scaffolding wall. Bucky’s back hit it with a soft thump, and this close, he had to blink Steve into focus. Steve laced their fingers together the rest of the way as he used his other hand to toy with the hairs at Bucky’s nape, and Bucky momentarily forgot how to breathe.

“Buck, I’m going to say something to you, and I need you to listen to me, really listen.” All Bucky could do was nod, and if it was even possible, Steve crowded that much closer. “You are, without question, the most beautiful person I have ever met in my life. You really are. And when I say that, I mean all of you, every last inch. From here” – he tugged gently at Bucky’s hair – “to here” – he squeezed Bucky’s metal fingers – “and all the rest of the way down. I’m not holding your hand because I think you need it. I’m holding your hand because _I_ want to. Me. But if that’s not something you want, all you have to do is tell me, and I’ll stop.”

He didn’t move, seemingly waiting for Bucky’s answer, but Bucky couldn’t make words work, could only blink, wide-eyed. But Steve must have taken his silence for rejection, because he again started to pull away, and Bucky’s heart tripped over itself. He grabbed onto Steve’s waist to hold him in place.

“I don’t want you to stop,” he whispered. He was fairly certain he never wanted Steve to stop.

“Can I kiss you?”

Bucky wanted to ask why, after everything they'd done, he thought he had to get permission, but he just nodded instead. When Steve brushed his lips against Bucky’s, it was closed-mouthed, soft and chaste and unlike any kiss they’d shared since they’d started making out at the bar the night before, when everything had been hard and hungry and fast.

When they parted, Steve’s eyes were searching, but Bucky had no idea what he wanted to know, no idea what the answer was supposed to be, so he insanely blurted out the first thing that popped into his head.

“Why do you love coffee so much?”

“I’m sorry, what?”

Bucky groaned and dropped his head onto Steve’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, I have no idea where that came from.” He was certain Steve would pull away for real this time, but instead, he heard a soft laugh.

“You’re ridiculous, you know that,” Steve murmured and kissed the shell of Bucky’s ear, which, Bucky was pretty sure that was supposed to be _Steve’s_ title.

“I think you’re the ridiculous one, actually.” He finally lifted his head to find Steve smiling at him like he was just a little bit nuts, but also like maybe he might be okay with Bucky being a little bit nuts.

It made Bucky wonder if this whole liking Steve thing wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

“I’m serious, though.” He leaned back against the wall again so he could see Steve properly. “If you’ve proven anything today, it’s that you love coffee as much as I love tea, so I was just wondering why.”

‘Well, if you’re wondering if there’s a story, there is.” He finally pulled back, but he didn’t let go of Bucky’s hand, just turned them up the sidewalk again. “It’s because of my mom.”

“Your mom?”

Steve nodded and quirked a smile. “So, I guess what you need to know first is, my dad died in a military accident before I was born –”

“God, Steve, I’m so sorry.”

Steve just waved him off. “No, it’s fine, really. I mean, it’s not like I ever knew him. And it’s like my mom had always said, he died doing cool shit. He died doing what he loved.” He gave Bucky a small, proud smile. “But basically, it was just me and my mom my whole life. She never dated, and she used to say it was because she didn’t have time for it – not with being an ER nurse and raising me – but I think it was because my dad was the love of her life. His picture never left her bedside table.

“The other thing you should know is that we never traveled. Literally not once the entire time I was growing up. About the most exciting trip we ever took was to Disneyland every year, and that was, like, forty miles away. But, the thing is, she _loved_ the idea of seeing the world. She never said it in so many words, but I knew that was her big plan once I was out of the house.” He laughed and scratched the back of his head. “You know, I used to joke with myself that she was just waiting so she could sell the condo the day I moved out, and fuck off for the rest of her life. I’d only know where she was by the occasional post card.”

“But, like I said, we never traveled growing up. Just lived our lives, me going to school and her working her ass off at the hospital. There was this one thing, though. She used to always talk about wanting to see the world, yeah, but she _also_ liked to say that she was perfectly happy. That as long as she had her boy and her first cup of coffee, she had everything she needed in life.”

They’d slowed down their walk, people bumping into them occasionally as they passed, but for all the world, Bucky didn’t notice any of it. His entire focus was on Steve, and Steve only, as he hung on every word.

“See, that was the thing,” he said, his eyes on Bucky now, “she _loved_ her first cup of coffee in the morning. She used to always say that her absolute favorite moment of any given day was that very first sip she took. She said it was because she was a coffee snob” – he snorted, and the joke wasn’t lost on Bucky either – “but I think it was more than that. I think she liked the quiet. I was a tough little kid growing up, always in and out of trouble, and with the job she had... Well, I think she loved that one little moment of peace she got to have every day.”

Steve went quiet for a minute, but Bucky didn’t dare ask any questions. It was true, he’d suspected Steve had his reasons for his love of coffee, just like Bucky had his own reasons regarding tea, but it hadn’t occurred to him that it might have been as important as it was shaping up to be, as important as his own story. Yet, with each passing word from Steve, it became more and more clear just how _wrong_ he’d been. And he couldn’t tell if this feeling coursing through him was shame, or him falling that much harder for the man walking beside him. He thought maybe it might have been both.

When Steve went on, there was a new somberness to him. “Anyway, when I was a senior in high school, she was diagnosed with Stage Four ovarian cancer.” All the air left Bucky’s lungs, and he gripped Steve’s hand that much tighter. “She, uh, she was given six months, but she actually made it about nine. I think she was holding out for me to graduate, like she knew I wouldn’t do it if she’d died before I finished. She would have been right.

“So, well, after she died, I found out she had a lot of money in savings. Like _a lot_ of money. It had come from my dad’s life insurance policy and the payout from the military over his death.” Steve wiped at his eyes, his voice cracking as he went on. “It turned out she’d saved the vast majority of it for _me._ I guess she'd planned on using some of it to travel, but she'd earmarked the rest to make sure I didn’t have to worry about money. So, I could...pay for college, get a start in life without worrying about rent, things like that.

“But when she died, I just...wasn’t _ready_ for that. I wasn’t ready for life. So, I took the money and I did what she couldn’t – I traveled.” He stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and turned to Bucky. People squawked all around them for road-blocking the path, but neither of them cared. Bucky stared at Steve, transfixed, while Steve stared back, eyes red-rimmed and heartbroken. Bucky wanted nothing more than to pull him into his arms. “I saw as much of the world as I could over the next couple of years. And...the coffee thing, it started out small, just a cup in her honor every morning. But then, after a while, it became something of an obsession. It was the one thing I wanted to learn about in every country I visited – how they took their coffee and if my mom would have liked it. And, you know, I think she would have loved every single one of them.”

It was right then that Bucky stopped caring. Stopped caring what they’d started out as to each other, or what they were to each other now. The _only_ thing he cared about anymore was what he wanted in his future, and he wanted Steve. And never let it be said that Bucky Barnes didn’t go after the things he wanted.

He set their bag on the sidewalk, then rested his hands on Steve’s chest. He took a moment to appreciate the sight – the beauty of the man in front of him. Steve watched him, and Bucky thought back to his glasses he’d been wearing from earlier that morning, and he realized he didn’t know if they were just reading glasses, or if maybe he had contacts on right now. This close, he wasn’t sure how well Steve could see him, but he was staring intently at Bucky, as though he knew exactly what he was looking at, and _God,_ Bucky hoped he really did.

He slowly slid up and cupped Steve’s face with both hands, brushed his thumbs along Steve’s cheeks. Then he stepped in close. “I think your mother is really proud of you, Steve,” he said quietly, and felt Steve’s chest hitch. “I think she loved you very much. If anything, I would guess that maybe _you_ were the love of her life. And I think she and I would both agree here – I think you’re beautiful, too.”

Before the fresh wave of tears even made it down Steve’s face, Bucky was leaning in, kissing him for all he was worth. Steve’s arms wormed their way around Bucky’s waist, holding him tight, and Bucky wrapped his arms around Steve’s shoulders to get as close as he could.

When they broke apart, Bucky made a noise of protest and clung to Steve, but Steve stayed close. Pressed their foreheads together and gave Bucky another small kiss.

“Come home with me tonight.”

Bucky’s stomach dropped. “Steve, I can’t –”

 _“Please,”_ Steve begged. “Please come home with me tonight. And tomorrow night, and the one after that. I mean, I’ll come home with you, if that’s what you want, but just...I want you, Buck. Tonight, tomorrow, next week, next month, I want _you.”_

Everything narrowed down to those words, and the air left Bucky’s lungs in one quick rush. Steve was asking...he _wanted..._ It was probably the best thing Bucky had heard all day. He laughed, watery and disbelieving and wondrous. “And what are we going to do about your horrid taste in drinks?”

“Excuse you, my tastes are amazing,” Steve laughed. “You’re the one who needs to check yourself at the door, my friend.”

“I don’t want to be your friend,” Bucky admitted and finally looked up to find Steve smiling stupidly at him.

“Well, I don’t want to be your friend, either.”

“Guess you’re just going to have to let me keep my bastard drink at your place, then, aren’t you.”

“That goes both ways, you know.”

Bucky thought back over the entire insane day, traipsing all over New York to try to prove the other wrong over _tea and coffee,_ and how it had all led to this.

Bucky really _wasn’t_ built for one night stands. Looked like his record was going to stay clean.

He smiled, happier than he could remember being in a really long time. “I think I can live with that.”

And he did.

(Most of the time.)

(Okay, about half time.)

(It was a seventy/thirty split.)

**Author's Note:**

> Because she's so freaky unreal AMAZING, [hopeless--geek](http://www.hopeless--geek.tumblr.com) did a second piece of art for me.
> 
>  
> 
> **BEHOLD, THE DORKS THAT ARE BUCK AND STEVIE!**
> 
>  
> 
>   
> ~~~~
> 
> A special special thank you to [Brenda](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Brenda/pseuds/Brenda) for the beta. All other errors fall on me.
> 
> ~~~~  
> Feel free to come play with me on tumblr at [stephrc79](http://www.stephrc79.tumblr.com/).
> 
> I promise I don't bite. Well, not unless you ask nicely.  
> ~~~~


End file.
